Exciting Times (2)

Well, it’s all go at the moment!

Last Thursday, I gave my new collection LifeTimes its first outing at an event with several other poets at Stag Coffee, Canterbury. I really enjoyed it – there seems to be a vibrant poetry scene down there.

This evening at 730-930, I’ll be the guest of Rose Condo at Attic Stories in Lawrence Batley Theatre – looking forward to it!


Then on Thursday, it’s my official launch event at Marsden library. All welcome – refreshments and open mic slots available – email me at tim.e.taylor@talk21.com if you’d like a spot.


I’m happy to send out signed copies of LifeTimes to anyone who would like one (£7 inc. P&P)- just e-mail me at the address given above. It’s also available (unsigned) from Maytree Press, Read. Bookshop in Holmfirth, and Amazon.

Finally, I’m delighted to have three poems in this fine new collection from River Paw Press:

Thought I'd end with one of those:


In the time of pestilence
life goes on, but smaller;
confined in shrinking spaces,
curling in upon itself.
Revolving in cramped spirals
the stuff of it is squeezed 
and twisted, all its colours 
are wrung out and washed away. 

Yet it endures: one day
the cloud will disappear,
the barricades be lifted.
Those who are left will watch
through blinking eyes as life’s
discoloured, crumpled fabric 
opens up, unfolds its faded 
scenes of brown and grey.

A time for restoration,
an opportunity – perhaps
a duty – not to settle 
for what was, but dip the brush 
in brighter colours, sweep bold lines 
across the canvas of the world,
to paint our future in rich shades
of purple, green and gold.


Today I’m delighted to host this poignant poem from fellow Holmfirth Writer Sue Clark.


Those harvests from our hunt
for chestnuts and for blackberries
are garnered in the barn
that is one’s brain,
preserved as conker shine
and purple glow, all gathered in
and safe from rotting rain.
Pocketed and stored, they still abound,
those foraged nuggets, as does the sound
of clop in pan and drop from tree,
and that feel of snug rotundity.
As first leader of those hunts, 
my father stands by the mind’s barn door,
heart-harvested, and gathered in,

Sue Clark is the secretary and long standing fellow member of the Holmfirth Writers' Group. She has an MA in Poetry and serves as a judge in the NAWG poetry competitions.


I'm delighted to host a poem today from Liz Heywood, a fellow member of Holmfirth Writers' Group.


A door opening

A door closed

Doors waiting to be passed through

Glimpses of other places, other feelings
Sunlight, snow, rain and hail

Sadness in a landscape of hills
Purple and shadowed at sunset
And here ajar - a long vista
A plane, silver flash high in the sky
Trailing its vapour banner against the blue
Exciting change moving something new
Looking down on snow-covered mountains
Strange foreign passing over

Through this one a bar of light
Some hope in the shadows
Gold line along the ground
Tempting to walk it
To try again

This one opening on
A known landscape, known difficulties
Empty spaces and a scouring wind

Ah, choices, choices
But let a door open

On shelter and a warm fire

A kind of safety